


Don’t Fear the Darkness, Darling (I’ll Light Your Way)

by kitana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Turned Into Vampire, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-02
Updated: 2009-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitana/pseuds/kitana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America just isn't big enough to hide Dean from Sam, and Dean doesn't know how long he can run. [vampire!Sam/Dean]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don’t Fear the Darkness, Darling (I’ll Light Your Way)

Dean has been driving for five days and has put nearly as many states between himself and Sam. He has tried talking to Sam, tried reasoning and hoping Sam would give up, but his brother is as stubborn as a vampire as he was as a human. In fact, there isn't much different between Sam then and now except that Sam is hungry for things that Dean can't, and doesn't want to comprehend.

Dean is in a small rickety motel room on the border of Tennessee, sitting on the single bed with his head in his palms. It isn't bad enough that Dean ultimately failed and couldn't protect Sam from the vampire that bit him, but Dean doesn't have the heart to do what he is born to do and put Sam in the ground next to his sire.

He knows he can't do that, no matter how much his instinct is screaming at him. Sam is still his brother, vampire or not, and so Dean has no choice but to put as much distance between them as he possibly can.

Dean wishes he could tell Bobby, but he knows that Bobby won't say anything he doesn't already know. It's what Bobby's good for, setting rhyme and reason to the world when Dean can see everything but. So instead Dean will have to pack up first thing tomorrow and get back on the road, because he knows Sam is coming for him. Sam's made it perfectly clear that he won't let them be apart for long, and if there's anything Dean can believe, it's what Sam says.

America just isn't big enough to hide Dean from Sam, and Dean doesn't know how long he can run.

That doesn't mean he shouldn't try.

*

The first two times Sam calls, Dean ignores the phone. He keeps driving well past sundown, even though his eyes are blurring from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. Dean picks up the phone on the third call, and rasps out a weary hello.

"Please, Dean. Stop running away from me," Sam says, and Dean can see the face that goes with the voice Sam is using. Shuttered, downcast eyes and lower lip slightly pushed out in a faint pout that practically begs for someone to kiss the hurt away.

Dean has always been a sucker for it, but he forces the image away and tries to focus on the empty darkness and the lines of the road. "I'm not running, Sammy. You're chasing."

"Don't lie to me," Sam says bleakly. There is a pause on the line, and for a moment Dean thinks Sam's hung up, but then Sam just sighs as though exasperated with a small child. "I'll see you soon, Dean. Love you."

Then the line really clicks dead, and Dean sets the phone aside gingerly, no longer tired.

He tells himself that the sinking feeling in his chest isn't fear and keeps driving.

*

Sam finally catches up to Dean in Pennsylvania, when Dean is so tired that he can't keep going anymore and absolutely has to stop for a full night's sleep. Sam waits, though, waits until Dean is fast asleep before creeping into his motel room to watch him. Sam could list off Dean's mistakes, from the drawn shades to the useless salt lines, but that's not what he is here for.

Dean is a stomach sleeper and, wearing nothing but boxers and a thin tee, he lies mostly flat on his belly with one leg bent over the other. One arm is beneath his pillow, crushed under his head, and the other slung above the pillow and to his side. Sam watches his lips part on a breath, and it gets harder to just sit and watch.

Dean is beautiful, from the fall of his eyelashes and the angular shape of his face, to the way his calves curve and meet the flesh of his thighs. Sam can see Dean's blood flowing tantalizingly beneath the stretch of his skin, and Sam wants to sink his teeth right into Dean, but he doesn't want to just take from his brother.

He wants Dean to want it too.

The bed dips with Sam's weight as he sits next to Dean, and Sam pushes his fingers into the short strands of Dean's hair. Dean's eyes flutter open, unfocused and confused at first, and then he stiffens as recognition dawns on him.

"Sam," Dean says, his throat dry and voice weak from sleep.

"Told you I'd see you soon, Dean," Sam says fondly. Dean makes to move, but Sam pushes against his skull, forcing Dean to stillness. "Relax; it'll be over before you know it.”

Dean twitches, his fingers beneath the pillow flexing against the knife he keeps there. Sam is staring at him intently, as if he can already see the action Dean is contemplating before Dean can fully think it. The fact that Sam knows what he's going to do doesn't stop Dean from pushing against the grip Sam has on his head and swinging the knife from beneath his pillow.

Either Dean is more tired than he thought or Sam is unexpectedly fast, because Sam neatly dodges the swipe of the knife and grabs Dean wrist in retaliation, squeezing in a way that makes Dean's fingers unclench involuntarily. Dean surges up against Sam, trying to punch at Sam with his free hand, but Sam just catches that one too, and pushes Dean to the bed.

Sam transfers both of Dean's wrists to one incredibly massive hand, and then adjusts himself so that he is straddling Dean's thighs. Like this, Dean is immobile no matter how much he bucks against Sam, because Sam is two hundred pounds of dead weight, no pun intended. Sam sits there, waiting, until Dean's chest is heaving and he can't do anything except twist his hips weakly in protest.

"You done now?" Sam says, and Dean purses his lips thin in anger and sadness.

"Stop this, Sam, I don't want to..." Dean grits out, trailing off when Sam's thumb brushes against his lips, pushing them against his teeth. It's such a tender, familiar movement that Dean is momentarily thrown off and can do nothing except stare up at Sam's eyes, faintly glowing in the darkness of the room.

Sam leans in close to Dean, his lips mere inches from Dean's, and he can feel acutely everything that Dean does -- his sharp intake of breath, the fine tremors of adrenaline running through him, the thump-thump of Dean's heart hammering against his chest. Sam knows Dean has no idea how alluring he really is right now.

Whatever Dean is about to say is cut off by the press of Sam's mouth to his, Sam's tongue sliding between parted lips. Dean expects Sam to taste something like day old blood, but he tastes the same as he always has, and Dean can't help but kiss back, a motion born of reflex and too many cast aside memories. Sam smiles against Dean's lips, pulling away.

“Let me take care of you, Dean,” Sam says, and he kisses Dean again, sucking Dean's lower lip between his own. “Let me make you like me.”

Dean can feel himself getting hard from Sam's wet kisses despite the wrongness of the situation – Sam is a vampire now, and that isn't likely to change anytime soon – yet Sam has moved to his neck and is sucking up bright red bruises, and that's Dean's weakness more than anything else.

"Don't wanna be like you," Dean moans, but he knows his protest isn't convincing anyone anymore. Sam has Dean right where he wants him, they both know. Dean lets his head fall to the side, and more than anything it's an offering, because he's done fighting with Sam, done fighting a battle he's realized he can't win. Dean's just so tired of fleeing from the one thing that's always kept him sane.

Sam's teeth sink into the flesh of Dean's neck just a bit, teasing, and Dean shudders and arches up into it. It's easy for Sam to sense when the resistance drains out of Dean's body, leaving his brother limp, pliant, and shaking. Sam releases his hold on Dean's wrists then, which are purpling and bruised from the iron grip he had on them.

Sam's hands are lukewarm when he moves away from Dean's neck to push Dean's shirt up and over his head and arms, and Dean drags Sam's own shirt off, and this is both familiar and new, the firm planes of Sam's chest but without the rapid-fire pulse beneath it. It's horrifying and entrancing, the way Sam's heart beats so much slower than his own, but Sam just smiles encouragingly when Dean tenses up.

The fabric of Sam's denim is rough against Dean's legs as Sam slides off of them, wedging himself in between Dean's legs instead. Dean reflexively thrusts up into Sam's hand when Sam palms his cock, his thin boxers soaked through where the head of Dean’s cock presses up against it.

“Good,” Sam murmurs, working the fabric of Dean's boxers over Dean's cock, watching Dean's hips thrust shallowly to meet his hands.

Dean makes a low noise, letting his legs splay wider. As many things have changed about Sam, this is one part that hasn't – Sam loves to tease, loves to do things that all but force Dean to beg for what he wants. Dean's breath hitches when Sam looks up from his crotch to stare him in the eye, pinning him where he is with little more than the heat in his eyes.

“Want me to suck you, Dean?” Sam asks, grinning. Sam's teeth are normal right now, but Dean knows that it only takes an instant for those teeth to sharpen and lengthen, but Dean clears his throat and croaks out a yes anyway, because he doesn't feel like he can say anything else.

Dean lifts his hips to let Sam drag his boxers off, and his cock is thick and long, jutting upward without the confines of clothes. Sam licks at Dean first, tentatively, like he's never done it before. He swirls his tongue around the head and licks up the precome dribbling from the tip, tasting, before taking all of Dean into his mouth, scraping his teeth along the sensitive shaft on his way down. Dean chokes and surges up, hitting the back of Sam's throat; Sam only moans appreciatively and flicks his eyes up to look at Dean's face, drinking in all of the facial expressions that Dean makes.

Sam's mouth is stretched wide around the thickness of Dean's cock, and Dean can't help but groan and shudder, threading his fingers into Sam's hair. Sam's mouth is warm, warm and soft like it's always been, but there's still a tremor of terror lacing his arousal as he thinks about what Sam's mouth is capable of, more than ever. Sam sucks hard as he comes back up, popping off the tip of Dean's dick with a wet smack.

“Jesus, Sammy, your mouth,” Dean groans, the words coming out in a whoosh as Sam takes his cock back between his lips.

Dean's so close to coming that he's squirming, trying to get Sam's head down to take the whole of his cock so he can shoot straight down Sam's throat, but Sam just laughs and lets go of Dean's cock completely, shaking away the grip Dean has on his hair.

“Not yet, Dean, it gets better,” Sam says, and he slides off of the bed. He kicks off his boots and socks, then slides his jeans off and kicks out of those too. He's been ignoring himself up until now to make Dean feel comfortable, but Sam's cock is huge and hard, and just thinking about what's to come next makes his dick throb. Dean sits up to watch as Sam unzips his duffel, reaching in and grabbing the lube that he keeps buried at the bottom.

Sam crawls back between Dean's legs, splaying a hand across Dean's chest to push him back to the bed. Sam can feel Dean's pulse skittering as he smoothes his hand down Dean's chest, past his hips, and to his thighs.

"Up," Sam murmurs, and Dean crooks his knees, planting his feet on the bed. Sam squeezes lube on to his fingers, smearing it until his fingers are shiny slick, and presses the first digit in.

The darkness of the room doesn't stop Sam from being able to see the map of veins criss-crossing beneath Dean's skin, all on display just for him. He can see them expand and constrict with each deep breath Dean takes as Sam wiggles his finger around, adding a second when Dean rocks his hips to meet the first. Dean's dick is throbbing and leaking against his belly by the time Sam stretches him open with a third finger. Sam wants Dean as is he now, flushed and heaving, vibrantly lit even in a black room.

"Sam," Dean says, voice raspy when Sam withdraws his fingers and squeezes out more lube to slick up his own cock. "'s gonna hurt, isn't it?"

"Mmm, it can," Sam hums, lining himself up to Dean, letting the head of his cock bump up against Dean's hole. He thinks briefly back to when he switched over from being human. "But I won't let it."

Dean has to be satisfied with that, because Sam pushes in then, stuffing his cock inside of Dean inch by inch. Dean groans, reaching down to cup his balls and squeeze them as Sam slowly slides home. Dean can feel his ass stretching wide to accommodate Sam, and the slippery burn sends sparks of pleasure up from his groin to spread out warmly through his body.

Sam rocks his hips shallowly, leaning over to kiss Dean again, swallowing all of his breathy little moans. Sam usually has infinite patience, but not this time, not when Dean has one hand on his cock, the other clutching Sam's bicep, and his mouth sealed over Sam's like an envelope.

Sam releases Dean's lips with a lick and says, "I'm gonna do it now, Dean, you ready?"

"No," Dean says, but he arches up into Sam's next thrust and turns his head to the side to bare his throat to Sam. "Never gonna be ready."

Sam just smiles. His hips stutter slightly when his fangs come out, and Dean can feel the first prick of pain against his neck when Sam's teeth really sink into him.

"God, Sammy, God," he moans, and it hurts, just out and out hurts. Sam hums against his throat, a soothing noise, and snaps his hips, driving himself deep into Dean. Dean's noise is choked off, his eyelashes fluttering as he pushes himself back against Sam, his cock leaking against his fingers again.

Dean can feel it now, can feel Sam's tongue working as he laps away the blood flowing freely from his neck. Dean writhes, trying for more of Sam's cock and less of Sam's fangs, but he can't go anywhere and is just taking both, the pain with the pleasure.

In the back of his mind he feels terrified, knowing that he's dying right here beneath Sam, his baby brother, but he can't concentrate on it. Sam is thrusting into him deeply, every painful slurp against his neck punctuated by molten pleasure, until Dean wants to sob with it, to beg that it all just stop.

Sam releases Dean's neck when he comes, and Dean comes with him, quaking against Sam, spurting thick ropes of come against their bellies. Dean's grip on Sam's arm slides away weakly and he's breathing heavily, his heart laboring under the strain of coming, of losing so much blood, courtesy of Sam.

"It's almost over, baby," Sam says, and Dean can't acknowledge it. His whole world feels sluggish and tilted, like everything he was once aware of is draining away. "Hush."

Dean wants to call Sam's name, even tries it, but he doesn't think Sam can hear him, because he can't even hear himself. He gave himself up to Sam, up to a new destiny, and now there's nothing to do but succumb. He can feel his heart beating slower and slower, and he's scared, more scared than he thinks he's ever been before.

Sam brushes away the wetness from Dean's cheeks, and he's saying something in that sympathetic voice Sam normally would reserve for trauma victims, but Dean can't make it out. The last thing Dean remembers is Sam kissing him, and the taste of Sam's blood in his mouth.

It's the last time Dean ever sees a sunrise.


End file.
